"Of course she is," said Bindle reassuringly. "Fancy you bein' afraid of a pretty little bit o' fluff like that."

"But—but—she was in her——"

"Of course she was, she was goin' to 'ave a rinse in there," Bindle indicated the bathroom with his thumb, "when you frightened 'er. Dirty trick a-frightening of a pretty gal like that."

With affected indifference Bindle strolled over to the bathroom, looked in and then stood before the door.

"Look! there she is again!" almost shrieked Mr. Stiffson, dashing for Bindle and endeavouring to get past him into the bathroom.

"There, there, sir," said Bindle soothingly, "you're a very lucky cove, only you don't seem to know it."

"But—but—Mrs. Stiffson——"

There was terror in Mr. Stiffson's voice. On his forehead beads of perspiration glistened.

"What the wife don't see the 'usband don't 'ave to explain," remarked Bindle oracularly.

"But she's in my flat," persisted Mr. Stiffson.